Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128271 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
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78—Triste
“Sorry is all that you can't say. Years gone by and still, words don't come easily—like sorry, like sorry.”—Tracy Chapman
(Severus) 
Severus hurried down to the waiting room to retrieve his potions kit from Draco, who had promised to guard it with his life while the unpleasant details were hashed out upstairs. 
When he stepped into the lounge, he found Draco pacing the floor like a caged animal, his lithe body wired and ready to spring. Showing a touch more decorum, Lucius sat perched on the edge of one pea-green bench, still as a statue, except for his foot, which jangled with an overflow of nervous energy.
They both stopped when they saw him.
“They’ve agreed,” Severus said quietly.
Lucius heaved out a ragged sigh and rubbed his forehead, but Severus couldn’t tell if the exhalation was one of relief or increased anxiety. Before they’d left the manor, Lucius had confided in Severus, telling him how frightened he was for Hermione’s peace of mind. When Severus expressed the same concern, Lucius elaborated on his fears and confessed that the thought of a child—any child—dying of dragon pox made him physically ill. He’d kissed Snape and wished him luck, and Severus knew without being told that Lucius needed the cure to work for his own peace of mind as much as Hermione’s. The man had seen more than enough of this disease.
That Lucius had willingly stepped foot in St. Mungo’s said a great deal about how much it all meant to him. How much they meant to him. Severus mentally thanked him for showing up, taking heart in his bravery. Lucius might be invested in everyone's success, but he was there for Severus and Hermione. Severus appreciated the support.
Draco rushed over with his potions kit, and as he approached, Snape saw that the boy’s lower lip was swollen and red. He’d been biting it again, a nervous tic he’d picked up from Hermione. Except Draco tended to scrape rather than nibble. And he only did it when bottling up his emotions.
Severus squeezed Draco’s hand as he handed over the leather case. “One of us will report back as soon as we can.”
Draco jerked his head in a brief nod and proceeded to draw his teeth over his lip again.
Reaching out, Severus brushed his thumb across the abused petal and gave him a stern frown. “You’re going to make yourself bleed. Try not to chew a hole through your face while I’m gone.”
Grimacing, Draco pressed his lips together and nodded again. He looked as though he might be sick any second, which made Snape’s own gut clench rather dangerously.
In some ways Draco seemed just as vulnerable as the baby upstairs, but at the same time the strength of his love felt immense and indestructible. Soft but powerful. Like the ocean.
His ocean.
Ignoring the fact they were in public, Severus wrapped one arm around his shoulders and leaned in so they were eye to eye. “No matter what happens today, I’m here for you. I know you've become quite attached to James.”
Draco looked surprised by the open intimacy, his eyes widening and shooting toward the door.
Severus pulled him closer, undisturbed by the threat of discovery. His body seemed to know exactly what was called for, the choreography intuitive and impossible to resist. Equally impulsive, his mouth opened, and Severus was surprised to hear himself speaking the words that, previously, had been so reluctant to leave his tongue, “You know I love you, don’t you?”
It took less than a split second for Draco’s eyes to flood, but before anyone but Severus could possibly see, he swiped at his face and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know—and I love you too.” He smiled, eyes wet. “Now please go save the baby before I have an actual heart attack and die all over this tacky linoleum.”
Severus squeezed his neck and gave Lucius a parting look. Love you. 
Lucius inclined his head in reply, lips quirking.
Spinning on his heel, Snape strode out into the hall. They needed to move fast. The Weasley clan would be arriving for visiting hours soon, and the healers would be coming round to see if they could do anything for the distraught parents.
They didn’t have much time.
Back in the room, Severus warded the door behind him, and he noticed immediately that Hermione had found a suitable workstation. She gestured to the rolling tray-table that stood beside the bed, and Severus nodded his approval. Any port in a storm, love. He’d set up impromptu labs in the most inhospitable locations: forests, beaches, broom cupboards. An actual table seemed like a gift from the gods.
Opening his kit, he took out the scalpel, an empty phial, a rag, healing draught, and all the Blood-Replenishing potion he had at the house: ten full doses—enough for two large men.“Be ready when I call you.”
“I’ll have everything set up in two minutes. Is that enough time?”
“Plenty,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Are you positive you can handle this? You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“It’s just nerves,” she said with a wave. “I’ll be fine. Go on.” Her fluttering hand came to rest on his shoulder, and she held him still for a moment. “Take care of Harry. I mean that. Be good to him. For me.”
He smiled ever so slightly. “As you wish.”
Leaving her to take care of the prep work, Severus headed for the attached bathroom. Due to Potter’s fame and grave misfortune, St. Mungo’s had gone all out with the accommodations and provided one of their finest private rooms, complete with ensuite half-bath. Unfortunately, the dimensions of said facilities were less than desirable. Once they’d arranged the stretcher—which they’d “borrowed” from the hall—there was scarcely enough room for Severus walk to the sink.
Potter sat on the edge of the floating cot, staring at the floor and compulsively wringing his hands. Sticking out his bottom teeth like a bulldog, he played an obsessive game of catch and release with his upper lip—the exact opposite of Draco’s lower-lip scraping tic.
Severus almost admonished him, but he didn’t have the heart. If it made the boy feel better, why not let him gnaw himself raw?
Setting everything on the sink’s minuscule countertop, Severus began to arrange his materials in order of importance. “Take off your shirt,” he said over his shoulder. “We need to hurry. Did you find any antiseptic?”
“Yeah, here,” Harry said from inside his shirt, thrusting forward the bottle once he was free. “There was a whole trolly of supplies just sitting out near the laundry chute.”
Severus took the bottle and studied the label. “What about the bucket?”
Harry pointed beneath the stretcher, and Severus tilted sideways to see a glint of galvanized steel shining from the shadows.
“Don’t tell me,” Snape muttered, “you just happened to find an open broom cupboard?”
Potter shrugged. “The door wasn’t locked. I can’t imagine they’d mind us borrowing it.”
They would if they knew what we were doing. “Hopefully we’ll have it back before they notice anything’s missing.” Severus gave the cot a pointed nod. “I don’t mean to rush you, but . . .”
Potter didn’t object, lying down smoothly and rubbing his upper arms to keep warm. 
“I can get you something if you’re too cold,” Snape said, glancing over to his frock coat, which rested a few feet away on the folding chair he’d brought from the other room.
Harry shook his head. “I’m okay.”
Snape demurred and turned back to his work. Rolling up his sleeves, he cast a sterilization charm on everything in sight: countertop, scalpel, phials, stretcher. Should he do the whole room or would that be overkill?
“Soooo . . . is this as awkward for you as it is for me?” Harry asked with forced lightness. “I never thought I’d be hiding out in a bathroom waiting for you to slit my throat. Well . . . not since I left school anyway.” 
Severus spun around, the old fury flaring up out of nowhere. Was Potter suggesting Severus had intended him harm while at Hogwarts? Why that ungrateful little—
Harry froze, his expression startled. “Sorry . . . bad joke. I don’t know why I said that. I guess my nerves are kinda shot. This just feels too much like old times: me on the brink of death, you stalking around making potions, looking like you want to hex my guts out. It’s like we’re getting ready for the most disturbing detention ever served.”
Snape’s shoulders sank, the anger dissipating as fast as it had appeared. “I don’t want to hex you.”
Harry smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks. I don’t want to hex you either. I’m just . . . really fucking scared.” His jaw clenched, and he pulled off his glasses to rub the moisture from his eyes. “Terrified actually. Thank God I didn’t eat anything this morning, or it’d be all over your shoes by now.”
The urge to comfort the boy surged through Snape's body, but unsure if Potter would welcome physical contact from the man who’d made his life hell for six years—and now planned to murder him—he chose to rely on his words instead. “You’ll be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t know that for sure, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Potter bit his lip again, obviously thinking. “And just in case I forget to tell you later, it means a lot to me that you’d do this.”
“What, slit your throat?”
Harry smirked. “I meant save my son.”
“Ah.” Severus couldn't think of how to respond. You're welcome seemed too blasé for such a somber matter, so rather than say the wrong thing, he spent an inordinate amount of time retrieving the antiseptic and wiping down Potter’s neck, pretending to be very busy.
“If this goes well,” Harry said, picking up the conversational slack, “I guess I’ll owe you a life debt. Or will James owe you? I never know how these things work.”
Severus just stared at him, lost for words. Yet his mouth moved, and inexplicably, he heard himself say: “It is I who owes you a life, Mr. Potter. If not for me, you would have grown up with a mother. I don’t know if that can ever be repaid.”
Harry flinched, his expression shifting to a scowl. 
Now look what you’ve done, Severus. Marvelous job keeping him calm. Perhaps next you could mention the Astronomy Tower and see if that vein in his temple just explodes on its own.
“What?” Harry sputtered. “That wasn’t your fault. I don’t recall you being the one to cast the killing curse that night.”
Caught off guard, Severus just stood there, blinking stupidly. “But if I hadn’t—”
“If you hadn’t what?” Harry interjected, his green eyes fierce. “Eavesdropped on Trelawney’s interview? Told Voldemort what you heard? Made a mistake? Do you know how many bloody mistakes I’ve made in my life? Too many to count. But guess what, nobody really cares about mistakes when you’re the savior of the wizarding world. You know why?”
Severus arched an eyebrow, nonplussed.
“Because mistakes aren’t what people remember. They remember how you make them feel. I make people feel safe, so they’re pretty forgiving of my imperfections.”
And all this time I thought the boy was a moron. “How . . . introspective of you. But I believe you’ve just made my argument stronger. I am not the savior of the wizarding world, and I think it’s safe to say the only thing I’ve ever made anyone feel is fear.”
Harry shook his head as if that were ridiculous. “No.”
“No?”
“Not at all. You make people feel confused . . . and that makes them nervous. They can’t figure out if you’re trustworthy or not, good or evil, a hero or a villain. People like black and white answers; and you’re way too gray for comfort.”
Sweet Circe, was Potter secretly a psychological genius?
“Even I have trouble seeing through your grey, and I know more of your good side than most. Like I know you loved my mother, and I know you were loyal to her when it mattered most. You devoted your life to her memory and then died protecting her son.” Harry shook his head. “You didn’t kill her, Severus. I don’t blame you for her death.”
Snape made himself look into Harry’s eyes—Lily’s eyes. Where he expected to see pity and deception, he saw only crystal clear honesty. Potter held no grudge against him.
And Severus felt like a cad in comparison. How long ago had Potter forgiven him? Before his trial? Before the Dark Lord’s death? Yet it had taken Severus another decade to even consider the possibility that the boy might not be a complete shit. How mature.
Snape had assumed that when Potter and Weasley had responded so poorly to Hermione’s secret love life, it had been for personal reasons, because they hated him and Lucius. But Potter didn’t seem to hate him. It was more like . . .
Severus cleared his throat and looked around the room in search of something other than Harry’s eyes to focus on. “I know Hermione is like a sister to you,” he said quietly. “And I know it must have been quite upsetting for you and young Mr. Weasley to hear of our . . . courtship.”
Both Harry’s eyebrows shot up, clearly questioning the turn of phrase.
“But,” Severus carried on as if he hadn’t seen, “I want you to know . . . I love her. Truly. With all my heart. She means more to me than words could ever convey.”
Harry pressed his lips together, possibly to keep from shooting his mouth off, or maybe just to repress a smile. He nodded. “I can’t say that was the response I was expecting when I said I didn’t blame you for my mum’s death.”
“I wanted you to know I’m taking care of her,” Severus explained. “It won’t be like . . . before. I’m not the man I used to be.”
Potter’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. “No? You’re not still trying to secretly protect everyone? You’re not prepared to give your life for those you love? You’re not doing everything in your power to keep death and destruction at a minimum? That’s the Snape I used to know. Maybe you’re just not giving him the credit he deserves.”
Dumbfounded, Severus openly marveled at the boy.
“Severus?” Harry said, averting his eyes and looking thoughtful.
Dear lord, Snape didn’t know if he could withstand any more introspection. “Yes?”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to talk once you cut me, and I have to ask you to do something before it’s too late.”
“What is it?”
Harry looked straight at him, and his green eyes shone in the light, brimming with unshed tears. “I need you to promise me that, if I don’t make it, you’ll look after Ginny and James.”
Severus swallowed hard, his eyes wandering to the door. The request was touching, but horribly depressing. And he couldn’t imagine Ginny would ever want to see his face again if he killed her husband. “You’ll be able to look after them yourself. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Please,” Harry whispered. “Don’t make me beg. I can’t do this until I know they’ll be taken care of.”
Blast! As if he could say no to that—not with those eyes staring him down.
Sighing hard through his nose, Snape conceded with a nod. “Very well. You have my word.”
Harry blew a heavy exhale through his lips and relaxed back against the stretcher. “Thanks.”
“If that’s all, we should begin.”
Tilting his face to the side, Potter exposed his neck, the blue veins branching off and disappearing beneath his skin. “I’m ready. How fast do you think I’ll go?”
Severus winced as he gripped the scalpel’s handle between his thumb and forefinger. Telling a wizard how he would die felt unnaturally cruel. But lying seemed even crueler. “Extraordinarily fast. You might lose consciousness immediately.”
Potter accepted the news with a stoic dip of his head. “In that case, I hope I see you soon.”
Severus snorted softly at his joke. “I told you I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Have you ever known me to go back on my word?”
A small smile touched the corners of Harry’s mouth. “No. But to be fair, you don’t often give your word.”
“Only when I mean it.” Snape brought his left hand to Potter’s throat, gently pulling the skin taut. “Slytherins are more discerning with their promises.”
Bending down, Severus studied the artery that ran along Potter’s neck, picturing the inner structure in his mind’s eye. He wanted to keep the cut small and do as little damage as possible, not only for his own sanity but to speed the healing afterward. 
Picking up the rag he’d brought to block the arterial spray, he placed it beneath his anchor hand, within easy reach. Then he double-checked that the phials were all in place: empty phial ready to collect the blood, Internal Healing Draught on standby, and ten Blood-Replenishers lined up in two rows of five; half of them open. 
Everything was ready.
With a wandless, non-verbal spell, Severus sliced an opening in the stretcher’s thick canvas and used the toe of his boot to nudge the bucket beneath it. The metallic scrape set his teeth on edge, and his stomach flipped several times in rapid succession.
Taking a deep breath, he raised the scalpel. Light glinted off the steel, reflecting onto Potter's jugular, and Snape couldn't help noticing how violently that light quivered. He watched his quaking hand, feeling oddly disconnected from it. It felt wrong to be causing the death of the one boy he'd been tasked with keeping alive for so many years. His body wanted to rebel, but his head and heart knew that, despite appearances, this death would be an act of kindness.
Such moral incongruity wouldn't be a first for him. 
But it still hurt.
Then he heard Lily’s voice in his head, pleading for compassion and forgiveness, but Severus no longer knew who was supposed to forgive whom. Or why. All that bullshit seemed as if it had happened to someone else, in another life. A life he couldn’t comprehend.
It was time to let it go.
“I’m so sorry,” Severus whispered, unsure if he was apologizing for what he was about to do or their entire history.
Harry reached across his chest and clutched Snape’s left wrist. His green eyes glittered with fresh tears, and when he blinked, two wet tracks trailed down his cheeks.
“You’re going to be all right,” Severus murmured, carefully pressing the blade to his skin, desperate to get the nightmare over with. “You’ll be back before you know it.”
Potter’s grip tightened, and his face crumpled. “Tell them I love them.”
Severus clenched his teeth and pushed the point of the scalpel in enough for a scarlet bead of blood to appear “You’ll be able to tell them yourself in less than ten minutes. But I’m sure they already know . . . and they love you too.” 
Drawing the blade down, Severus spread the bead in a thick line. With the tips of his free fingers, he grasped the rag, and as he sliced through the thick artery, he lifted the cloth to keep the spray from shooting all over the room. 
Potter’s eyes went wide, and his breathing quickened to a frantic pant. 
Severus slapped down the scalpel and rolled the boy ever so slightly, so the blood would drain through the hole he’d made in the stretcher.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re doing just fine.”
A red circle spread across the dull canvas, and Severus had to close his eyes to still the spinning of the room. Memories of the Shrieking Shack came rushing back, flashing through his mind like a blood-spattered slide show.
He remembered it all—the smell of rotted wood and dust mixed with the coppery scent of his own demise, the weakening in his muscles as his life spilled all over the floor, the dizzy darkness that swirled around and within his dying body. Never had he felt such fear.
Tearing at his collar, he realized he was wheezing, struggling for more air. His top three buttons ripped open, and he clasped at his own throat. 
Harry’s green eyes narrowed.
Severus knew what he was looking for, and waving his hand, he vanished the intricate glamour that hid his scars. They hadn’t seen the light of day in nine and a half years. Severus couldn’t bear to look at them, and he certainly didn’t want the people he loved to constantly be reminded of his death. 
But at the same time, those scars proclaimed his survival; they stood as a memorial to his most noble deeds . . . and his most devastating failures. His good and his bad. His greyness. Perhaps he hid them because he didn't like his confusing nature any more than anyone else did.
Potter didn’t seem to mind it though. He understood that living itself fell into the realm of grey. Which only proved problematic when a person tried to force that grey into either the black column or the white column. Absolutes left no room for the variegated beauty of reality.
A lesson Snape apparently had to be beaten over the head with before he saw its truth for himself.
Severus twisted his wrist in Potter’s grip and took hold of his hand. “You’re going to be all right. Do you hear me?”
Harry’s breathing had become labored, and his eyes fuzzed as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He might not be totally lucid, but Severus knew rationality did little to diminish the fear of oblivion. They both had experienced the bodily panic of death, the struggle to hold on to the familiar and not slip into forgetfulness; if Severus could ease that burden in any way, he'd gladly offer up all he had. Words. Scars. Understanding. It seemed like so little, but he knew the comfort even a small gesture could impart. 
Once upon a time a pair of green eyes had seen him safely into the great beyond. He wouldn’t betray that kindness.
“I’m right here,” Severus said, dropping the rag so he could use his other hand. Potter’s stubble scratched at his palm, but he ignored the burn and stroked at his tearstained cheek with the side of his thumb. “I’m not leaving you.”
Harry’s breathing stuttered, and Severus slid his fingers down to check his pulse. It took him three tries to find it. 
Reaching over, Snape picked up the empty phial.“Just try to relax. It’s almost over. You don’t have to fight anymore.”
Potter’s grip went slack, falling away, and each gasp sounded weaker than the last.
Fading. 
Until he stilled completely, green eyes fixed on empty space.
Quiet.
Severus prodded for a pulse but could find nothing. He tried again. And again. Rolling Harry back a little, he used the lip of the phial to help gather the blood that still dripped down the boy's neck.
“Hermione!”
She burst into the room, wide-eyed and manic; but she froze when she saw Harry and made an odd squeaking noise, both hands flying to her mouth.
“Take this and finish the potion so I can bring him back. Go on! Don’t forget the incantation.”
Hands shaking, she took the phial of blood and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Severus snatched up his wand and began chanting the healing litany he’d learned from his mother—for his mother. Running his magic back and forth over the gaping wound, the melody poured from his lips without thought, the song so ingrained it had become automatic. 
Slowly, the hole knitted itself back together, and when it looked like a cut rather than a weeping laceration, Severus stopped to dump three phials of Blood-Replenisher down Potter’s throat. Setting a Chest Compression Charm to start pumping his heart, Snape went back to his healing. That hole needed to be fully sealed before the blood started to flow.
He repeated the incantation over and over, and within the next minute, the cut transformed into nothing more than a raw, red scar. The superficial healing could be dealt with later.
Severus took over the chest compressions himself, counting in his head and putting some extra weight behind each attempt. “Okay, time to wake up, Potter.”
Snape pinched Harry's nose and tipped back his head. Mouth to mouth, he breathed for him.
In. Out.
In. Out.
Still nothing.
Severus pulled back and set the Chest Compression Charm again. He needed about six more hands and at least two more mouths. After pouring three phials of Blood Replenisher into Harry’s motionless body, he resumed the resuscitation manually, pumping the boy’s chest and then searching for signs of life.
“Dammit!” Snape clasped his hands tightly and, raising them high, brought them down on Potter’s chest with a cracking thud. “Come back!”
When his fit failed to produce any visible results, Severus closed his eyes and silently begged Lily to send back her son. You can’t let him die like this. His family needs him. I need him—this death can’t be on my hands. Not this one. “Please.”
Severus pressed his mouth to Harry’s chilled lips and, taking the deepest breath he could hold, huffed all the air from his lungs in a woosh of desperation.
Please.
Triste—lovelorn song; italian for sad, often used in the phrase lent et triste, meaning the song is to be played slow and sad.
“Baby Can I Hold You” written and sung by Tracy Chapman. Released in 1988. I remember when this album came out (I was 8), and my parents actually bought it (which was surprising as we didn’t have much money back then, and they hardly EVER bought albums). I probably listened to it about a thousand times, and I still love it to this day and listen to it at least once a year. I’m glad to hear “Fast Car” still being played on the radio (for those of us still listening to the radio), hopefully exposing a new generation to this marvelous musician.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wzIE3mRFypQ
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